


Active Couple

by ScatteredWords



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, different magic au? I suppose?, historical costuming au, historical dance au, this is the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written so I hope people who aren't me like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 21:56:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16463072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScatteredWords/pseuds/ScatteredWords
Summary: So many girls dream of attending a glittering ball and meeting a swoon-worthy vampire. Too bad Laura Hollis has secrets of her own, two left feet, and an overly dedicated event organizer for a best friend. The dresses may be two hundred years old, but in the twenty-first century, relationships are a bit more complicated than simply finding the most attractive stranger with ten thousand a year.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what this is. It's the first thing I've ever finished entirely before posting, but it's probably going to be part of a series of short fics in this strange little universe I've created. The ball is based on events I attend on a regular basis, though only one name briefly mentioned belongs to a real person I know. Enjoy.

She spotted the vampire the moment she entered the ballroom.

As if in a dream, she let some sixth sense draw her through the crowd. Jewel-bright skirts rustled and gentlemen nodded respectfully as she passed by her fellow guests, but they might as well not have existed. Everything in her being was fixed on that one point, like a lodestone guiding the tiny needle of her awareness. Deep brown curls gleaming in the light from the crystal chandeliers, a cream dress with a green chiffon overlay turning it the color of spring leaves, a winning smile. And those eyes, deep and dark pits just waiting for her to succumb and fall headfirst into them. Closer and closer still she came, somehow managing to avoid the vampire’s notice even as she moved straight towards her.

And a microphone chose that moment to feed back.

It was five minutes into Laura’s first ball with the Silas Vintage Dance Society, her vampire sense wouldn’t stop tingling, and her eardrums were considerably bruised. All in all, the evening was not going according to plan.

Perry had said this would be fun. “You like Pride and Prejudice, right?” she’d asked as she shot Laura a slightly desperate look across their usual dining hall table. “It’ll be like that! Dashing gentlemen, beautiful ladies, fancy dresses. Like a fairytale!” An overly enthusiastic gesture sent a spoonful of peas flying straight into the expensive-looking sweater of a blonde nearby, who scowled in their direction. Perry’s face flushed and she sank down in her chair.

“Honey, please? I just need at least one person there I know is going to try. I’ll even waive your ticket fee. Please say you’ll go. Say it for me.”

That heroic streak of Laura’s was going to get her in trouble someday. Still, she’d be lying if she denied being intrigued at all by the prospect. And she had to admit, as she looked down at the silvery, high-waisted gown she’d borrowed from a Silas member improbably named Raven, the clothing part of the evening had definitely met her expectations.

Another screech from the mic finally tore her attention away from the vampire- more time to try not to think about that later –and onto the stage, where Perry stood holding said mic at arm’s length. In a gold-striped dress with tendrils of her red curls loose about her face and the rest pinned up in an elegant knot, she looked like she’d stepped out of a BBC miniseries.

Until she opened her mouth. “Could I take a moment to ask you all to silence your cell phones?” There was a general grumbling, but people broke off from the general crowd and rushed to the edges of the room, rooting around in bags stashed beneath chairs or spring jackets discarded near the hall’s few outlets. Once a hush fell once more, Perry spoke again.

“Perfect! On behalf of the Silas Historical Dance Society, I’d like to welcome you all once again to the annual Northanger Abbey ball. Music tonight will be provided by…”

Her voice faded into a dull hum in the back of Laura’s awareness. There was still the matter of the vampire, pressing on her consciousness like the dull ache of a stubbed toe. She tried to keep her eyes firmly fixed on the middle distance, but they stubbornly wandered back to the young woman who stood innocently watching Perry. Not much taller than Laura, dark hair and eyes as previously noted, and that olive-colored gown that looked even more like something from a period portrait than Perry’s. In fact, from her simple yet elegant tiara to the woven design that snaked golden tendrils up from the hem of her skirt, everything about her outfit looked meticulously researched. Researched, or remembered.

She turned her head so suddenly that Laura didn’t have time to look away. Their eyes met.

“And now, please find partners and form sets for The Brunswick Waltz.”

How did everyone manage to pair off so quickly? It was, Laura decided, exactly like Pride and Prejudice. Everyone magically found a partner and you were left dancing with the last person on Earth you wanted to.

She gritted her teeth and closed the distance between her and the vampire in two strides. The vampire’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t say anything. Somebody had clearly given her a progressive upbringing.

“Hi. I’m Laura.” Laura offered her hand, palm-up. “Want to dance?”

The vampire hesitated only a moment before placing her gloved hand in Laura’s. “Sure.” As they made their way into a likely-looking clump of couples, she asked, “Would you prefer to dance the lady or the gentleman?”

“Does it matter?”

“Only if you have a strong preference for standing on the right or the left. It’s just how period manuals teach the dances, and it’s easier to call that way.”

“I guess I’ll dance the lady, then,” Laura replied. She began to settle into the line of people facing towards the back of the ballroom, but the vampire stopped her.

“Nope.” She began to pull her further towards the tall, narrow windows that marked the head of the set. “I prefer to be part of an active couple.”

A tidbit out of the dozens of tips Perry had crammed into her mind floated to the surface. “Won’t everyone be active at some point?”

“Yes,” said the vampire with a slightly wicked smile, “but I like to be active as long as possible. Makes things more fun, don’t you think?”

More feedback got all eyes on Perry more effectively than her slightly flustered attempts to catch the crowd’s attention. As she began to teach the steps of a relatively simple figured waltz, Laura tried to pay attention. She really did. It wasn’t her fault that half of her mind kept helpfully alerting her to the vampire’s presence.

“Thanks, evolution,” she muttered under her breath. The vampire glanced in her direction but said nothing.

At last, Perry deemed them sufficiently able to stumble through The Brunswick Waltz without help beyond her calling. As the first strains of violin music wafted through the air, Laura made a stumbling, slightly belated attempt at a curtsy. Her partner infuriatingly but inevitably dipped with perfect grace and balance before straightening up.

“I’m Laura, by the way,” she said in the moment before the dance began.

The vampire smiled again. “Carmilla.”

\--------------------------

By the time Perry announced that refreshments were served and the other group members- including Carmilla –whisked organdy drapes off a table of cookies, fruit, and punch, Laura had learned three things about her mysterious partner.

First, that her name was Carmilla, obviously.

Second, that her home was somewhere out in the Berkshires.

And finally, that she had been born in 1993.

The last piece of information had been delivered in the tired, slightly hostile tone of someone answering a question they’d heard a thousand times before. To be fair, “do you remember when this dance was new?” seemed like a pretty logical question to ask a vampire in a historical dance society. But Carmilla’d still shot her a glare as they clasped right hands and skipped in a half-circle around each other.

“I was born in 1993, buttercup,” she’d said. There was an edge in her voice that boded ill for further questions along that line, if there had been time to ask before they broke apart and returned to their places in the long lines opposite each other.

Laura still felt, as she reached for a glass of fizzy punch, that her question had been entirely reasonable. After all, Carmilla seemed to be the perfect Regency dancer, skipping or gliding through every set with the poise of an actress in a period drama. It wasn’t hard to imagine her dazzling every gentleman in a ballroom circa 1810. Or every lady.

She clamped down on that thought. Carmilla was undeniably gorgeous, but vampires were off-limits.

Besides, she was supposed to be dancing each dance with someone different. That’s what Perry had told her in the many, many pre-ball briefing sessions during lunch. Or dinner. Or when she caught her brushing her teeth in the dorm bathroom and thus unable to escape. She’d definitely fulfilled her duty in that regard; Carmilla had only danced with her twice. If she’d been staring at her for most of the other four dances, well, nobody said she couldn’t _look_ at someone besides her partner.

It wasn’t as if paying attention would help her dancing much. She glanced down at the dark shoe-marks on her hem and frowned. How did Perry remember all these steps, and in the right order, and while maintaining perfect, BBC-worthy posture? How did any of them? No wonder she’d assumed Carmilla had two centuries of practice at least.

 _Maybe she’s sensitive about her bloodline,_ Laura reflected. She selected a slice of lemon cake from the spiral artfully arranged on a silver platter and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. If members of Carmilla’s line lived less than two hundred years, she probably wouldn’t appreciate a reminder. Vampires from weak lines never did, in Laura’s limited experience.

All around her, chatter rose in a pleasant hum and the artificial shutter noises of a dozen phones snapped, taking pictures that would inevitably flood Facebook and Instagram the next day. Perry had reminded her at least ten times to take pictures, but it wasn’t like she had some new, handmade gown to document for a costuming blog.

“Laura!”

Speak of the devil. Perry pushed between a Hussar and a lady who resembled Empress Josephine to a truly eerie degree and bustled over. Her face was flushed but beaming.

“Are you having fun?” she asked, ladling some punch into the plastic water cup still clutched in her hand.

Laura nodded. “This is…amazing. How often do you do put on this kind of production, anyway?”

“Oh, every few months. This is one of our biggest events, you know.” Perry downed the remainder of her punch and pulled off one long, white glove to grab a molasses cookie. “Who have you danced with so far? Anyone I might know?”

“Danny Lawrence,” Laura replied, after a moment’s hunting for the name of the tall ginger in the impeccably tailored suit who had coached her through a gallop. “A couple of older guys whose names I didn’t get. Oh, and some girl named Carmilla.” She tried to drop the last name with as much nonchalance as possible, but Perry still gripped her plastic cup so tightly it began to buckle in the middle.

“Carmilla Karnstein?” she asked.

“Carmilla _Karnstein_?” Laura echoed. Her mouth fell open and she was dimly aware she must look like a landed fish. Fortunately, Perry didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve told her a hundred times not to dance with newcomers! I’m so sorry about that. She can be a bit…abrasive, but I promise she’s alright. Really. Especially for a vampire.” Poor Perry looked as though she’d just accidentally killed Laura’s dog. Laura struggled to muster up an appropriate reaction.

“No, no,” she finally managed, “she was totally fine. A perfect gentlewoman.”

Perry heaved a sigh worthy of a Jane Austen heroine. “Oh, thank heaven.”

“Um, Perr,” Laura said carefully, trying not to white-knuckle the ball of crumpled napkin in her fist any harder, “did you say her last name was Karnstein?”

“Hm? Oh, yes.” Now that a potential crisis seemed to have been averted, she had gone back to scanning the crowd like a particularly helpful hawk. Laura swallowed hard.

“As in, Engelert Karnstein? One of the most powerful vampires in Europe? Scary wife, staked by a serial killer in the ‘90s? That Karnstein?”

“I think so,” Perry said absently. “She did say her father was dead and her mother was insane, but the last part might have been an exaggeration. Does that boy look like he’s trying to find an outlet to you?”

“So what’s she doing here?”

“They do like to mingle in human society sometimes, you know.”

“I know, but- daughter of all-powerful vampire scions! Here!” Laura stumbled over her words. “At- at a college costume party!”

That finally got Perry’s full attention (and a rather sharp look). “Laura, this isn’t just a college costume party. Silas is one of the northeast’s foremost dance recreation societies. We’ve won awards. People hire us to perform at museums. I’ll thank you not to minimize my accomplishments.” With a little sniff, she continued, “Why does it matter so much, anyway? I didn’t know you were this into vampire politics.”

“I’m-” Laura began, but faltered. It wasn’t the right time. Not now. Not when this was all so new and confusing.

A treacherous voice in the back of her head pointed out that if she couldn’t tell her best friend, she sure as hell wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else. She pushed it down as firmly as she could.

“I’m just curious. That’s all.”

Perry began tugging her glove back on and exchanged a small nod with the bandleader. “Well, I wouldn’t recommend asking her. At best, she won’t tell you. At worst…” she trailed off with a little shudder. “I’d like you to not end tonight with a broken foot, if possible.”

“Roger,” Laura replied with a little salute. “No prying with the grumpy vampire.”

With a satisfied smile, Perry began making her way through the crowd towards the front of the room. Laura sipped at the remainder of her punch and idly plucked a grape from the bunch sitting invitingly in a shallow cut-glass dish. So Carmilla came from a big-shot family. So what? It wasn’t like vampires normally concerned themselves with humans, anyway. At least, not humans outside the “willing and eager blood donor” category. It would be easy enough to ignore Carmilla for the rest of the night.

“What if the grumpy vampire doesn’t mind prying?”

There had to be a god. And that god had to be a sadistic fanfiction author.

Laura turned. Sure enough, there stood Carmilla in all her head-to-toe Regency perfection, wearing more red lipstick and a satisfied-looking smirk.

“Does she?” Laura wasn’t sure how the comment got out around a tongue that suddenly felt like cotton wool, but she immediately wished she could take it back. Carmilla, though, merely raised an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“But-”

“Unless, perhaps,” Carmilla added, “it’s accompanied by more dancing.”

Cute. Laura pushed herself away from the table and looked Carmilla right in the eye. “Well, the non-grumpy non-vampire minds mind games.” She cringed internally at the repetition, but continued, “So I’ll just be dancing with non-assholes for the rest of the ball, thank you very much.”

 “Non-grumpy non-vampire,” Carmilla echoed. “We both know that’s not quite true.”

Laura felt the color and heat drain from her face. She’d known Carmilla knew, in the abstract- any vampire would know. Self-preservation instinct and all that. But this was the first time one of them had come right out and said it.

Then, from next to her right shoulder, she heard what might as well have been an angel’s voice. “Miss? Would you care to-”

“Yes!” she replied, probably a bit too loudly and eagerly. It was only when she turned to see a boy with an ill-fitting pinstriped suit jacket and a neck beard beaming at her that she amended the thought to “way too loudly and eagerly.”

Still, she reflected as her unwelcome cavalier led her to a set and began grilling her about the Napoleonic Wars, it had to be better than dancing with a vampire.

\--------------

It was not better than dancing with a vampire. Even Laura had to admit that.

Nor was the overly chummy older man who claimed her next dance and whose hands kept wanting to wander from their 19th-century-approved positions. Or the teenage girl who rolled her eyes and glared daggers at her mother every time they stood still for longer than five seconds. A few of her partners were charming, probably more than weren’t, but somehow the bad eggs managed to stand out more strongly in her mind.

The dancing itself, though…that was another story.

She still struggled and stumbled, but when she finally got the rhythm of a dance and had a partner who knew what they were doing, everything changed. The fast-paced dances felt like flying, up and down and between the rows of dancers in steps that were half-jumps and somehow seemed to carry her farther than she’d have expected. Slower ones became as stately as the party scenes in her favorite costume dramas, and she found herself almost wishing for a dark and roguish stranger to whisper intensely to in the moments when their shoulders touched.

Her eyes wandered the room again until they found Carmilla’s. Well. A dark and roguish _human_ stranger.

“Laura!” Danny hissed. Laura looked back across the set and saw her partner frantically pointing at the gentleman waiting to pass her diagonally. She jumped back into action with an apologetic laugh, and the dance continued with totally minimal thoughts of the vampiric elephant in the room. She wasn’t obsessing or fixating at all.

If she told herself that enough, maybe it would become true.

A few steps later, she curtsied to her partner and applauded with the rest of the guests as a final lingering note brought the song to a close. With a bit of shock, she realized she missed the feeling of whirling through space, almost weightless when she could get her feet and her mind to cooperate. She found herself wondering how anyone could sit on the sidelines and just watch dance after dance, never jumping in themselves.

Perry’s voice rang out across the room. “Everyone! The next dance will be a waltz for couples.”

For couples. As opposed to a figured, country-dance waltz with sets, she remembered Perry explaining over a break in their last joint study session. She glanced around, only to see everyone in her immediate vicinity either pairing off or heading for the chairs lined up along the sides of the room. Nobody was making eye contact; it seemed she was in danger of being left without a partner, much less one who could actually teach her the waltz.

As she started reluctantly towards the seated spectators, a voice stopped her in her tracks.

“May I have this dance, Miss Hollis?”

No. No way. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t _actually_ living in a fanfic, was she?

Laura turned around slowly. And there was Carmilla.


	2. Chapter 2

“The waltz, Carmilla said as she strode to a place near the center of the room, “is not a complicated dance.”

Laura dodged couples that had already begun moving as she followed her. “You stole that line from Crimson Peak.”

“Del Toro is a wise man,” Carmilla replied. When Laura caught up to her, she moved so they were standing side by side. She took a gliding step to the right, then shifted her weight from her right to her left foot and back again. She repeated the steps in the opposite direction, keeping time with the sweeping tune the band had struck up. “Your turn.”

Laura did her best to mimic Carmilla’s movements, with Carmilla quietly directing her all the while: “Right, two, three. Left, two, three. Right…” After a few more repetitions, she stopped her.

“Good enough. If we had more time I’d teach you the actual waltz steps. Unfortunately, this isn’t Pride and Prejudice Weekend.”

“What’s Pride and Prejudice Weekend?” Laura asked.

Carmilla slipped an arm around her waist and guided Laura’s hand to her shoulder. “More time.” She took Laura’s other hand in her free one and Laura couldn’t help noticing that her palm was smooth and just a little bit cooler than Laura’s own. The feeling was so familiar that she felt a lump rise in her throat and tried to think about the chandeliers, the music, the dress swirling around her legs, anything else.

Carmilla’s eyes shone as she guided Laura into the slow revolutions of the dance. Okay, maybe not anything else. Some topics were definitely safer than others, and the fact that she was waltzing- hesitantly, but still waltzing –in the arms of a beautiful vampire was decidedly in the danger zone. If Carmilla was someone else, something else…

But she wasn’t.

“So who was it?”

Laura’s brow furrowed. “Who was what?”

“Which of your parents was a vampire?”

The music suddenly sounded distant as Laura’s heart began to pound on her ears. She lost count of her steps and stumbled, feet sliding on the silky hem of her dress all out of time. Carmilla gripped her hands harder and stopped turning, trying to guide her instead into an easy side-to-side rocking.

“Whoa there, cupcake,” Carmilla said. “Calm down. I’m not going to start a battle royale right here in the ballroom. This dress took way too much time and money to ruin now. Do you know how hard silk chiffon is to find in stores these days?”

Laura took a shaky breath and rocked for a moment before replying, “I didn’t realize you could tell.”

“You spotted me the minute you walked in, didn’t you?” A teasing note crept into Carmilla’s voice. “Or have you just been staring all night because of my ravishing beauty?”

“You wish,” Laura said. Her voice was still shaky, but she was beginning to feel back on solid ground. Carmilla wasn’t shouting or pushing her away. There didn’t seem to be a vampire hit squad descending on ropes from the ceiling to kidnap her or worse. None of what she’d feared and half-expected was happening. Could she talk about this? Maybe she could talk about this.

She’d never talked about this.

Slowly they swayed together, the question hanging in the air between them. Carmilla pushed gently on Laura’s hip and they were turning again, tentatively this time, but still moving around the floor.

“My mom,” Laura said at last. “It was my mom.”

“Guess she didn’t think too highly of her fellow vampires, then,” Carmilla said dryly, “given that aneurism you almost had back there.”

Laura counted three more steps in her head before replying, “I wouldn’t know. You’re the first one I’ve ever met.”

Carmilla’s jaw dropped, but (frustratingly enough) her smooth, graceful steps didn’t falter. “You’re telling me that your mother was a vampire-”

“Yes.”

“-but until just now, you’d never met another vampire besides her.”

“Technically, yes. But when I say you’re the first vampire I’ve ever met, I mean you’re really the first. The first one I knew about, anyway,” Laura said, not meeting Carmilla’s eyes. “Mom never told me.”

“Seriously?” Carmilla steered them out of another couple’s path without looking away from Laura for longer than a split second. Laura couldn’t help feeling a twinge of resentment.

“Aren’t the superpowers supposed to be my thing? How have you never tripped once this whole night?” she snapped.

Carmilla wouldn’t be deterred. “I’m good at dancing, and don’t try to change the subject. Your mother never told you she was a vampire? How the hell did she pull that off?”

“I never saw her eat much; she said she ate big lunches at work,” Laura answered. “She made me take these supplements for some condition I apparently had. She never said what, only that I’d had it since I was a baby. And yeah, they tasted kind of metallic, but vitamins always taste like crap so I didn’t question it. I always just figured she hit the genetic jackpot as far as aging, since even some humans look young way longer than we- _they_ should.” The pronoun correction came out awkwardly and Laura knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Everything that had been bottled up inside since the funeral and her father’s worried eyes came pouring out. “Then she was just dead and all these people came snooping around and they seemed way too interested in me and I didn’t know why until Dad said…said that Mom had been a vampire.”

“How did she die?” Carmilla asked quietly.

Laura’s eyes began to itch and she fought not to blink. “Serial killer,” she said. “I thought it was just an average, human, one-off murder until her family showed up. They didn’t even come to the funeral. They showed up at the house afterward. They weren’t wearing black or anything; just pushed past my dad into the house and saw me sitting on the couch. They said I looked just like her.” A short, joyless laugh pushed its way out of her. “She always told me her parents were dead.”

“I’m sorry.” The words seemed genuine, and when Laura looked back at Carmilla, her brown eyes were soft.

She sniffled. “Thanks. It’s- it’s fine. It doesn’t even matter. As long as I stay far away from them, they don’t care that I exist.”

“Who were they? Her family,” Carmilla asked. “Anybody I’d know?”

“Her name was Rosemary Bellamy,” Laura replied. She blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. “I don’t know if that means anyth- Carmilla? You okay?”

The gloves made it hard to tell, but Laura felt Carmilla’s grip tighten on her waist. The hand clasped in her own went limp, though, and the color seemed to drain from the vampire’s face. Finally, to the satisfaction of some perverse part of Laura’s brain, she lost the rhythm of the dance and froze where she stood.

“Your mother. Your mother was Rosemary Bellamy,” she repeated.

“Um. Yeah. Last time I checked.”

“The Red Rose of Kent. Heiress of the most powerful vampire family in England. Disappeared twenty-six years ago and hasn’t been seen since.”

“What?”

“You’re telling me,” Carmilla said as the music drew to a close and partners bowed and curtsied to each other around them, “that all this time, the Bellamys’ missing golden girl was off playing human and raising a little dhampir of her own?”

“I- I guess?” Laura shrugged, eyes wide. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but my mom was a vampire named Rosemary Bellamy. And her family seemed deeply into designer clothes, the one time I saw them. That’s all I’ve got.”

Carmilla seemed lost in thought as she reflexively dropped a belated curtsy, which Laura did her best to imitate. As she hurried over to the wooden folding chair where her phone lay charging- _not too fast, not too fast or they’ll notice_ –she could have sworn she heard Carmilla mutter something about “-with Rose Bellamy’s unfairly attractive daughter.”


	3. Chapter 3

Based on Perry’s frenzied etiquette briefing over lunch the previous day, Carmilla was the perfect partner.

Which was to say, she never so much as looked at Laura again the whole night.

Through gallops and country dances, Laura caught herself glancing over partners’ shoulders and under nearby arms, hoping to catch the eye of the vampire who wove through each dance like a needle through silk. Her hand always seemed ready to receive her partner’s a second before the figure required. Every turn was punctuated with the whipping motion of her head as she spotted to keep her balance. Ramrod-straight back, steps light and graceful…Laura wondered how anyone could mistake her for human, let alone believe she was 25 years old.

That wasn’t what mattered, though, she reminded herself as she inadvertently skipped the wrong way around a scowling elderly gentleman in a kilt. Carmilla had known Laura’s mother and might have some insight into the vampiric Dynasty cast who’d descended after the funeral. That was her value.

And now she seemed to be avoiding Laura as carefully as Laura had avoided her. It made more sense- _mostly_ made more sense, Laura amended when she tripped over her own skirt hem and nearly fell over –she found herself irritated by it all the same.

It wasn’t until a particularly fiendish number called La Boulangére that she even got within three feet of her quarry. Their hands touched as Carmilla dutifully guided Laura around in a quick circle, and then she became stone, receding back into the ring of dancers impassively. And never made eye contact the whole time. It was nothing like the electric touches and smoldering stares of a dark stranger guarding important information in a book.

Gothic novels, Laura decided, were dirty liars.

The dance drew to a close just as Laura stepped towards her partner to begin the first figure again. She dropped her best approximation of the bobbing curtsey that seemed to be period standard and applauded politely for the musicians. She did not sneak a glance at Carmilla. But if a flash of gold chiffon had happened to catch her peripheral vision, like a skirt flaring out as someone turned on her heel and strode rapidly away…well, who could blame her for noticing?

But her eyes remained firmly fixed ahead until Perry strode into that same peripheral vision, curls escaping from her chignon and her face flushed.

“Laura! Thank heavens you haven’t left yet!”

Laura glanced at her sidelong. “The last dance just ended, Perr,” she said slowly. “Where would I go?”

But Perry seemed in no mood for logic. “Did you have a good time?”

“I…” Laura paused as Perry’s head whipped left and right and her lips moved frantically if soundlessly. “I danced three times with Mr. Collins and we’re running off to Vegas tomorrow.”

“Did you, honey? That’s nice,” Perry replied absently. Laura rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same.

“What about you,” she asked, peeling off one unpleasantly damp glove. “How was your night?”

“Three, if we put the tartlets in Katherine’s car.”

Laura sighed. “Do you need something, by any chance?”

“Hm? Perry’s eyes lit up. “Well, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” she began.

“You’re my ride home. I can’t leave until you do.”

“Well, if you insist.”

Laura rubbed at a sore place where her dancing-slipper had chafed the back of her heel. “What do you need? Throw me at the problem and I’ll fix it. Laura Hollis, post-ball aide extraordinaire.”

If Perry heard the note of exhaustion in her voice, she chose not to comment on it. Instead, she grabbed Laura’s hand and took off at a brisk pace that forced her to half-jog to keep up. Laura found herself being chivvied through a side door and down an arrow, dingy staircase that twisted dizzily around itself. Perry talked a mile a minute the whole time. It wasn’t until Laura caught “be out by 11:00” that she stopped in her tracks. Perry stumbled and whirled around to glare at her.

“11? We have to be out of here by 11?” Laura asked.

“I just said that. Do try to keep up, okay?” She turned and took a few steps down the gloomy hall at the bottom of the stairs, but Laura stayed put.

“It’s 10:30.”

“Yes, and?”

“You’re saying we have half an hour to clean everything out of the entire ballroom?” Laura asked, her eyebrows rising.

“No, no!”

At that , she relaxed a bit. “Okay, good, because for a second there I thought-”

“No, we have half an hour to clean everything out of the ballroom and the kitchen.”

“I…what?” Laura stammered.

“Yes, exactly.” Perry’s frazzled expression suddenly made more sense than usual. “So let’s move it along, please.”

Laura took the remaining stairs as quickly as she dared and followed the speed-walking Perry down a short passage lit by a faintly buzzing red exit sign. The gray speckled acoustic ceiling tile and vaguely greenish linoleum floor were such a stark contrast to the glittering ballroom above that it seemed impossible they could exist in the same building. She swung through a creaky, water-warped door into utter commotion.

If the primordial chaos from which life itself had sprung had been housed in a town hall kitchen built in 1810 and last updated in the deepest, darkest 1970s, it would have looked something like the scene which greeted Laura and Perry. A room full of Regency nobles in delicate silks and fine woolens dashed about in every direction, scooping cakes off of silver platters, stuffing grapes and strawberries into Tupperware with a frightening efficiency. Everyone seemed to have a job, and they moved like a well-oiled machine as they called out cryptic phrases.

“Where’s the syllabub bowl?”

“Can the knife bag go down yet?”

“It’s in the Perry pile.”

“Who’s drying?”

“Laura is.” Perry jumped into the rapid-fire conversation as deftly as a child into a double-Dutch game. She thrust a calico apron into Laura’s hands.

“Put that on; I don’t want to spend the weekend getting water spots out of my dress,” she said briskly. “You’re over there”- she gestured to a huge metal sink half-hidden from view by the loudly humming fridge “-and the dishtowels are on the prep table. Chop chop!” With that, she turned in a flurry of skirts and was gone, leaving Laura to slowly unfold what was possibly the frilliest apron she’d ever seen. It seemed to have sprung into existence in a tropical greenhouse devoted to pink flowers, rather than at a sewing machine.

She squared her shoulders and strode towards the sink, grabbing a clean terry cloth off the central folding table as she went. “Hey,” she called to the person at the sink as she glimpsed them out of the corner of her eye. “Laura ‘Drymaster’ Hollis reporting for duty!”

The figure turned. Laura felt heat blaze into her cheeks.

It was Carmilla.

Laura’s mouth worked silently for a moment, her mind casting about for words. What did one say to the gorgeous, enigmatic vampire who had turned one’s world upside-down and then studiously avoided one all evening?

Fortunately the vampire in question took pity on her. “Wet things are over there,” she said, nodding to the comparatively dry half of the sink. “Put them on the table when you’re done. Try to keep up.”

“Been hearing that a lot tonight,” Laura said weakly. But the only response was silence, punctuated by splashing as Carmilla shoved a ratty yellow sponge around champagne flutes and delicate little punch cups. After a moment that felt like an eternity, Laura picked up a dripping cup and began to dry.

They soon fell into a rhythm. Laura swiped at each glass vigorously as Carmilla wielded her sponge, and was ready when a new piece came her way. In some weird, soapy way, it was almost like dancing. Around them people began filtering in and out of the kitchen and the stacks of brightly-colored plastic containers started to dwindle in size.

It wasn’t until the third lull period, with the room empty save the dishwashing duo, that Laura finally plucked up the courage to speak.

“so, you’re a proper Regency lady.”

“And you’re clearly not very observant, cupcake,” came the reply. “Jane Austen didn’t have a book called Regency and Revenants last time I checked.”

“How are you a revenant?” Laura asked, temporarily thrown off track.

“Born dead? Or did you miss Vampires 101 along with everything else your mommy didn’t mention?” Carmilla shot back.

The venom in her voice had the opposite of its intended effect. “No, but you clearly misinterpreted ‘don’t dance too often with the same partner’” Laura replied tightly.

“How so?”

“How so?” The next dry champagne flute hit the table a bit harder than she’d meant it to. “How so? You j just casually let slip that my mom was some kind of vampire royalty and then avoided me like the plague for the rest of the night, that’s how so!”

Carmilla pursed her lips. “Excuse me for not dancing attendance on you, Lady Bellamy.”

“My last name is Hollis.”

“Gods in the hills, you know nothing, do you?” Carmilla said, sloshing water around a cut glass punch cup.

I might if you would just freaking tell me!”

A sudden, sharp _pop!_ split the air. Laura suddenly found herself aggressively scrubbing a shard of glass clinging by a thread to its graceful stem. The rest of the flute lay in long, sharp pieces in the sink.

Both girls stared at the shattered glass for a second, as if stunned into silence. Then, Carmilla sighed.

“Look, sweetheart. I’m sorry your mother kept you in the dark. It’s just- you’re a lot of trouble in a tiny little overeager frame. You’re too many things I can’t deal with right now and you don’t even know half of them.”

Laura carefully picked up the broken glass and deposited it in the trash can. She regarded Carmilla calmly. Finally, she spoke.

“I’m Laura,” she said, her voice shaking a bit. “I’m a dhampir. How about we start there?”

\------

The sun was trying entirely too hard.

It burned against Laura’s eyelids, turning the darkness a dull shade of pinkish-orange. If pain could have a color, this would be it. Sitting up might be nice, but the warm weight settled on half of her right shoulder seemed put paid to the idea. Well, that and the little elves with pickaxes who seemed to have taken up residence inside her skull.

She considered her options. Open eyes meant orientation and being able to locate things. Things like aspirin. On the other hand, she had a sneaking suspicion that the overachieving sun would redouble its assault the second her eyelids cracked even a little. Snuggling deeper into the nest of thin sheets and somewhat scratchy quilt that seemed to surround her might be the better option.

Her mental debate was abruptly cut short by the shifting of that aforementioned weight and a low, rough voice thick with sleep. “Tell your heart to keep it down.”

Laura’s eyes flew open. The lancing agony of a sunbeam invasion quickly narrowed them to slits again, but sleep was no longer an option. Not with the night before rapidly flooding back into her aching head. Images flashed in her mind like scenes from a bad rom com as she took in popcorn ceiling, generic landscape prints, and a wooden table and chair so nondescript they put IKEA to shame.

The ball. The kitchen. The fight, and the conversation. And then the bar, brightly lit by a sign like an Old Hollywood marquee, spilling college students and loud music out into the balmy night.

“Who knew history geeks partied so hard?” she muttered under her breath. She barely even realized she’d spoken aloud until that body next to her stirred again.

“You might be surprised, cupcake.”

The familiar voice, low and velvety. But this morning, after everything, panic instead of fury shot through her as the sound conjured a whole new slew of summer blockbuster memories. Ones with rather less clothing and rather more breathless kisses against a cheap metal door as one hand fumbled with a room key behind her back and the other trailed downwards from her hip to…

Ignoring the protest of her throbbing brain and aching eyes, Laura shot upright as fast as she could. Which, being very fast indeed, caused a thump and a muffled _ow!_ as her late bedmate was knocked to the floor.

“Jesus.” Carmilla rubbed her head, tousling her already mussed brown curls even more. She pulled the sheet twined around her limbs into a makeshift shawl of sorts. “You people should need licenses for that super-speed. You’re all public menaces on par with drunk drivers, or the state of Florida.”

Laura’s feet beat a tattoo against the dingy motel carpet as she paced back and forth. “Oh my god. Oh my god. I slept with a vampire. I got completely drunk with a bunch would-be Mr. Darcys and slept with a vampire.”

“Why yes, I am still sitting right here,” came the dry retort from the other side of the bed.

Laura rounded the foot0board, looking at Carmilla without quite making eye contact. “And you! How are you not freaking out right now when you got all…all prickly about me last night?”

“The worst has already happened,” Carmilla said with a shrug. “I banged the Lady Bellamy. No point angsting over a signed death warrant.”

Laura groaned and plopped down onto the bed. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“It’s your title.” When she stood, Carmilla’s face grew serious. “As your mother’s sole child, you are the only heir to her estate and holdings. She was the Lady Bellamy. Now she’s dead, and that’s you.”

“But my dad-”

“Is immaterial.” Carmilla shook her head. “Your mother outranked him.  By our law, you are Laura Bellamy.” She paused. “Lady Laura Bellamy.”

All things considered, death by hangover was looking better by the second. Laura closed her eyes. A few moments later, she opened one a crack.

“Why-” Her throat stuck, dry as a bone wrapped in cotton-wool. She swallowed and tried again. “Why is it so bad to have…um…done non-PG-rated things with me?” Her eyes went wide. “Oh shit. We were drunk. I promise I consented, but I know some people say you can’t consent at all if you’re drunk, and if you were so drunk that you couldn’t-”

With almost Laura-like speed, Carmilla was off the floor and scooting on her knees across the bed to grab the other woman’s flailing hands. She looked squarely into her eyes and said firmly, “Hey. No. Don’t ever think- I consented, okay? And I knew you did, because you kept stopping every five seconds to check in with me. I think you might have been reciting a checklist, actually.”

Laura let out a shaky breath, bullet points from a feminist thinkpiece blog floating in her mind’s eye. She had remembered, and as her mind cleared, she remembered remembering. One terrible scenario down, so many lesser evils to go.

“Was I bad?” she asked with a careful nonchalance that belied her racing heart. Even if Carmilla could hear it, she had the grace not to comment as she unlaced her fingers from Laura’s and sat back against the squashy pillows. Raking a hand through her hair, she sighed heavily.

“Gods, is that what you think? No, cupcake, you were not bad. You were, in fact, quite the opposite.” She spared Laura a glance through her lashes, then resumed examining her bare, clean fingernails.

“Then why…” Laura trailed off, and shook her head. “You know what? Never mind. It’s not my business. One night stand, no strings attached, I get it. You probably didn’t get to sneak out like you wanted or whatever.” She stumbled over to the chair where her clothes lay and groped around for her bra. It was only when a busk and twill shoulder straps met her fingers that she recalled another little detail of the previous night.

“And I left my clothes in Perry’s car. Perfect. Just freaking perfect.” Swiping her rumpled, borrowed shift from where it had pooled on the floor, she stalked off to the bathroom.

The first few steps of dressing went off without a hitch, which was to say that pulling on essentially a loose dress and socks came pretty easy to even a profoundly modern girl. It wasn’t until she was halfway  into stays that refused to slide down past her nose and swearing as loudly as she dared that the bedsprings creaked and footsteps padded across the floor in her direction. A few seconds later, cool hands grabbed the bottom of the offending garment and pulled firmly downwards.

When Laura’s head popped out the top, she found herself face-to-face with a very tired-looking vampire.

“You’re complicated,” said Carmilla.

“What?”

“You’re complicated,” she repeated. “That’s why I shouldn’t have slept with you, and why I avoided you last night. You’re just too much I can’t deal with right now, like I said. The last thing I need is to start an inter-clan feud by being caught slipping out of a bed I shouldn’t be in. If there’s one thing I’ve gotten good at over the years, though, it’s knowing when to walk away. Turn around.”

Head now spinning as well as aching, Laura turned, and Carmilla began briskly lacing her stays. Even if she was born in the 1990s, a small part of Laura’s brain noted, she was good at this, pulling the laces tightly enough to provide support but not so tight as to be uncomfortable.

“So no hard feelings, sugarplum, but I’m afraid I’ll have to sit out any future dances between us. Horizontal or vertical. Thank you for last night. Good-bye.” She tied off the cotton string with one final tug and stepped back. Laura faced her again, watching as she wandered over to a corner of the room and began rummaging though a clearly well-stocked bag.

“So I’m back where I started,” she muttered. “Except worse.”

Carmilla glanced up but didn’t stop pulling out various bits of black cloth. “How do you figure?”

“I know what’s out there, who I am, but I don’t know how to deal with any of it.” She stood rooted to the spot, making no move to grab the rest of her clothes. “Ignorance may not be bliss, but it was at least a little bit less stressful.”

After a moment of silence, she shrugged and slowly picked up the dress that one of them had flung half-on and half-off the battered table. “I guess all there is to do now is wait, huh? Wait for Mom’s- my family to come back or not. Wait for them to decide what to do with me.”

It was, she would later reflect, a moment like the edge of a knife. Where things hung in the balance, and lives were changed. Where paths twisted; where fates that could go one way or another paused for an instant that felt like an eternity.

It was like the moment before a dance.

So somehow she wasn’t surprised when, stepping into a wrinkled ball gown for what had to be the strangest walk of shame in the 21st century, she heard Carmilla take a breath and say, “I know I’m going to regret this until the day I die, creampuff. Which might not be long now.”

Laura slipped her arms into the puffed sleeves. “Regret what?”

Carmilla rolled her eyes, but a hint of a wary smile danced around the corner of her lips as she replied, “Not walking away.”


End file.
